text, but I don’t answer the calls. I can’t deal with his concern, not when Dr. Nolan’s nurse calls the radiology department at the Forest Grove Hospital and asks if they can fit me in for a mammogram.
I don’t like the fact that this lump seems to have given everyone a sense of urgency. There’s no way Dr. Nolan would have seen me today, or radiology would fit me in, if I’d called telling them I had a stomachache.
But “I found a lump in my breast,” and everyone is rushing to assist me.
I drive a few blocks to the hospital and go downstairs to the radiology department.
“Olivia?” A technician comes to lead me back to the exam room.
“Have you had a mammogram before?” she asks, handing me another gown to change into.
I’m thirty-six. Should I have had a mammogram before?
“No, I haven’t.”
“Okay, no worries. I’ll explain everything to you as we go along.” She heads to the door with her clipboard. “Go ahead and change, and use those wipes to remove your deodorant. I’ll be right back.”
This room is colder than Dr. Nolan’s exam room, and I start to shiver after I’m in the flimsy gown. The machine is huge, with wide plates that I assume are going to flatten my breasts.
The technician returns, almost too cheerful as she explains the procedure.
“Our radiologist is here today, too,” she says. “So if you want to wait, he should be able to talk to you about the results before you leave.”
I’m not sure I want the results at all, but I agree. I stand and let the technician position me near the machine, then I pull my left arm and breast out of the gown. With an apology for being “pushy,” she tugs and pulls my breast onto the plate before lowering the top plate and squeezing my breast between them. It’s uncomfortable, but not painful.
The technician performs the same procedure with my right breast, then tells me to dress while the radiologist looks over the images. I leaf through a magazine, attempting to suppress the nerves tightening in my belly.
I should text Dean again, but I don’t. Can’t.
“Olivia?” A balding, older man enters the room with my file, extending his hand. “I’m Dr. Martin, the radiologist.”
“Nice to meet you. Thanks for doing this so quickly.”
“Not a problem,” he replies, sitting at the desk and switching on the computer. “So I was looking at your images and you have what are called ‘dense breasts,’ which means your breasts are composed more of connective tissue than fat.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not uncommon,” he continues, gesturing to the computer.
I look at the X-rays of my breasts, which appear like oddly shaped jellyfish on the screen. Dr. Martin waves his hand over the images, explaining that the white areas are breast tissue that can obscure masses, which also appear white.
“So,” Dr. Martin continues, “that means your X-rays are more difficult to read in terms of detecting tumors.”
“So what does that mean?” I ask.
“It means that since you have a palpable lump, we’ll have to do further testing,” he replies. “An ultrasound, at the least. Possibly a biopsy.”
Biopsy?
All the air squeezes from my lungs as I imagine a needle stabbing into my breast.
“Okay.” I grip my phone. “When can I schedule the ultrasound?”
Dr. Martin glances at the clock. “I should be able to fit you in within the hour.”
I nod, trying to convince myself he’s being efficient rather than urgent. After he leaves the room, I stare at my phone and try to work up the courage to call Dean.
But I can’t. Because I have the sick feeling that something is…
Chapter 7
Dean
…Wrong.
Something is wrong. I know it in my bones, feel it the way an animal senses danger before an attack.
Liv has been gone almost all afternoon, and aside from a few texts that she’s “still here,” I don’t know what’s going on.
For Nicholas and Bella’s sakes, I keep their routine the same—after Bella’s gymnastics class, we pick Nicholas up from school, and I explain that Mom had an appointment, so I’m taking over for the afternoon. We head home for a snack, then play outside before I start dinner and the kids settle down to watch cartoons.
Close to six, the front door opens. I drop the spoon I’m holding and go to meet Liv. She’s unwinding the scarf from around her neck. Her face is pale as paper, lines of fatigue bracketing her eyes and mouth.